....yet one feels tore with pity and compassion.
....
Finding the integer, on the limit, driven
only minimally above the ground
of the impossible, impossibly
here, and yet here to talk about the impossible
and the possible. And reversibly.
(Zanzotto)
Yes, in me, and out of me, dizziness and darkness.
But in me and out of me
so much fruit and victory of color
that, even if my head
lies empty on the page
...
even if my disturbed heart feels
the high doors fallen, ah, you merciful
of fountains,...
of your milk you satiate me, never satiate,
and you rearm me with all of your space.
(Zanzotto)
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